


Cinderayla

by N N West (raynewton)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynewton/pseuds/N%20N%20West
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fractured fairy tale.  If Cinderella was a man</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderayla

CINDERAYLA by NN WEST

 

Once upon a time there dwelt in the land of Fantasia a rich  
merchant who had only one son and no wife. It was whispered by the  
superstitious that the boy's mother had been one of the Elven race  
who, tiring as such soon will of her mortal lover, had returned to  
her own kindred, leaving the half-human child to comfort his father  
for her loss.  
Whatever the truth of his parentage, young Ray was a delightful  
child who grew into a beautiful youth without passing through the  
stage of gangling adolescence that seemed to afflict his  
contemporaries. At 18 he had a slender, feline grace, a riotous mop  
of silken curls, the clearest, greenest eyes in the world, and an  
odd, haunting beauty that served to confirm the rumours of his Elven  
mother. He was gentle, sweet-natured, unspoiled-and chaste. Not one  
of the girls who fluttered around this paragon like bees at a honey  
pot could boast of having received more than courtesy from him.  
Shortly after Ray's 18th birthday his father took a new wife,  
the lovely, predatory Alexis, a widow with two children by her first  
marriage, so that Ray found himself sharing his father not only with  
a stepmother, but two stepsisters, Krystal and Sue-Ellen (so-named  
from their mother's addiction to soap opera of the more lurid  
variety.)  
All three women were as cruel and treacherous as they were  
beautiful. Scarcely were they installed in the house when they began  
to work on the merchant, flattering him, cajoling him, pointing out  
how...unfortunate it was that a man in *his* position should be  
burdened with a son around whom such speculation was woven. Not that  
they believe any ill of the youth, Alexis added hastily, but it *was*  
said that the Elven race were lacking proper emotional  
motivation...and it certainly could not be denied that the merchant's  
first wife had deserted husband and child... could it?  
By the time Ray realized what was happening the damage had been  
done, and his father was regarding him with suspicion; his innocent  
attempts to heal a breech he could not account for were held up as  
proof of a devious, scheming nature. Hurt, Ray withdrew to nurse his  
wounded pride, and his reaction was instantly called proof of his  
sullen, stubborn refusal to admit to his faults and mend his ways.  
Within six months of his marriage, the merchant was dead.  
Natural causes, the doctors said, but there was a smile on his face  
and a faint weariness in Alexis' expression that set a few tongues  
wagging. The general opinion seemed to be that there were worse ways  
to go.  
On the day of the merchant's funeral, the will was read.  
Everything had been left to Alexis and her daughters-Ray had been  
completely disinherited. As 'an act of charity to my ungracious son',  
Alexis was enjoined to provide food, shelter and clothing for Ray  
until his 21st birthday; on that date he was to be given the clothes  
he stood up in, his mother's picture, a servant's wages for a year,  
and was to be turned from the house forever.  
From being a rich man's only heir, Ray had become a pauper. His  
friends deserted him for-as they kindly pointed out- it would be far  
too embarrassing for all concerned if Ray had to be excluded from  
certain pastimes and amusements he could no longer afford.  
Alexis decreed that since she must pay him a servant's wages for  
a year, he would work three years to earn it as a scullion, since he  
lacked training for anything better. A servant had no need for fine  
clothes; she confiscated his wardrobe, leaving him only a couple of  
pairs of old jeans and some shirts, most of whose buttons had long  
since vanished into limbo.  
He would be working long hours, and so would no longer require a  
suite of rooms; they were taken from him, and he was ordered to make  
himself a bed in the kitchen. The girls found this vastly amusing,  
and with memories of an old nursery tale, quickly renamed their  
luckless stepbrother 'Cinderayla'. They took pleasure in slapping and  
pinching him as he went about his duties, and often played malicious  
tricks on him, so that when he thought himself finished and with time  
for a brief rest, he would be summoned by a furious Alexis to  
re-polish a floor that the girls had just soiled. He quickly learned  
never to argue, for despite her seeming fragility Alexis had a heavy  
hand with a cane. The only restriction she placed on her daughters  
was to forbid them to use any form of weapon on him, for Krystal had  
once caught him on the cheek with a heavy ornament; he had almost  
lost his sight, and Alexis did not wish it to be known that she  
permitted actual harm to come to her stepson. The broken cheekbone  
healed unevenly, and the woman frequently commented on how ugly the  
deformity made him look, allied to his strangely non-Human face.  
Ray bore his changed circumstances with resigned patience. It  
was not the work he minded, nor the loss of his fine clothes and easy  
life; he even accepted the spite and ill-treatment from his stepmother  
and stepsisters. What hurt was the knowledge that his father had  
disowned him so easily. Perhaps, he reasoned, the stories of Elven  
blood were true; perhaps a birth such as he *was* something to be  
ashamed of. Certainly he must have done something very terrible to  
merit this treatment. Gradually he began to accept what he was so  
often told for the truth; he *was* ugly, stupid, lazy... he was to be  
treated as an outcast... for surely they couldn't *all* be wrong?  
So quietly, patiently, he endured, carefully performing his  
menial duties, accepting the petty, spiteful punishments, the lack of  
sleep, the scanty poor food, the endless, repetitive toil, as his due  
lot in life. Soon he had almost forgotten that he had ever lived any  
other way...

A year passed. Ray was nineteen. There was great excitement in  
the land, for the Crown Prince had returned from his adventuring in  
foreign parts to celebrate his 21st birthday, and also, it was  
whispered, to bow to the king's increasingly impatient demand that he  
take a wife.  
King George the 346th was known to his subjects as Old King  
Cowley, (as the chroniclers of his reign remarked, how else were you  
supposed to keep track of 346 kings all with the same name unless you  
gave them *some* sort of distinguishing nickname?) and was  
surprisingly popular. He had been born and brought up in the northern  
(and most civilised) part of the kingdom, and had succeeded to the  
throne unexpectedly on the death of his third cousin. In turn his  
heir was the son of his sister, formally known as His Serene Highness  
The Crown Prince William Andrew Philip Bodie; Old King Cowley  
frequently remarked that the title was wholly unsuitable, since  
Prince Bodie was rarely serene, but he supposed custom had to be  
followed. As a matter of fact, Prince Bodie was remarkably sensible  
on the subject of names; the younger and more romantic members of his  
court sometimes referred to him as 'Prince Charming', although not  
within his hearing- on the only occasion some daring spirit had done  
so, the rash youth departed for his family estates on permanent exile  
minus his front teeth. 'Prince Bodie' was the most the determined  
young man would permit, and even then his closest companions, such as  
his bodyguard and cousin Murphy Count Dandini, were urged to call him  
simply 'Bodie'.  
In one particular Prince Bodie was an especial trial to his  
royal uncle- despite the best efforts of every diplomat in the  
Foreign Office, the opinionated young prince had succeeded in  
alienating the father of every eligible princess within a year's  
travel. Phrases such as 'blackguard', 'young ruffian', 'scoundrel',  
and 'thoroughly unreliable' were repeated over and over again in the  
replies to Old King Cowley's formal proposals of a marriage alliance.  
(It was remarked, however, that when the opinions of the *princesses*  
in question were sought, no such complaints were forthcoming.  
Be that as it may, with the prospect of a foreign alliance  
seeming more and more unlikely, Old King Cowley determined to have  
his unpredictable nephew respectably married in the shortest possible  
order; decreed that during the year of the prince's 21st birthday  
entertainment and parties would be given at which he would have the  
opportunity of meeting every even remotely eligible young woman in  
the kingdom; if, at the end of the year, he could not produce a  
fiancee of his own choosing, the king would select a wife for him.  
Alexis was delighted when she heard the proclamation. Although  
regrettably a little too advanced in years herself to be eligible,  
she had not one but two delightful daughters- *and* she was in a  
position to bring them to the notice of the prince. Royal  
Mother-in-Law! Why, the position was as good as hers already!  
Events proceeded better than she had dared hope. Within weeks  
bookmakers were taking bets on whether Sue-Ellen or Krystal would be  
the bride of the prince. All that marred her contentment was the  
increasing enmity between the sisters as first one, then the other  
seemed to be higher in favour. It would, she thought, be worth  
enduring the sulks of the loser to have the matter settled, but it  
appeared that the prince had no intention of naming his preference  
quite yet.  
It would have astounded all three women to know that in fact  
Prince Bodie *had* no preference. Becoming bored with the endless  
debate over his marriage prospects, he had determined one morning to  
choose the first eligible girl he set eyes on that day; but, knowing  
that his uncle would insist on the marriage taking place as soon as  
he announced his choice, he intended to make the most of his last  
year of bachelorhood by postponing the announcement until the last  
possible moment.  
It so chanced that on the morning in question, Prince Bodie had  
seen Krystal and Sue-Ellen at precisely the same moment. Finding  
nothing to choose between them (he considered them both vain,  
empty-headed baggages who stood in greater need of a sound education  
than husband) he shrugged his shoulders, paid both an equal amount of  
attention, and privately confided to Murphy that when it came to the  
bit he would base his final selection on the toss of a coin. Perhaps,  
he added casually, his cousin might care to wed the reject- then at  
least the two friends could be miserable together.  
Knowing nothing of this, Alexis was delighted to entertain her  
daughters' royal suitor on her deceased husband's country estates.  
Such influx of visitors necessitated a great deal of work, with all  
available staff being pressed into service- among them an  
almost-forgotten scullion who scarcely remembered himself that he had  
once been heir to the estate, and that it should be he who had the  
right to welcome the prince.  
The staff worked day and night to prepare for the royal visit.  
There was so much to do that the procession was already in sight far  
down the country road when the last of the cleaning materials were  
hurried out of sight. Ray, who had as usual been given the dirtiest  
jobs, judged that he just had time for a quick wash under the stable  
pump; he was just pulling on his ragged clothes when the clatter of  
hoofs on the cobbles announced the first arrivals- the prince and  
Murphy had grown weary of the slow movement of the procession, and  
had raced ahead.  
Aware of the punishment he would face if Alexis learned he had  
been seen by the royal visitor, Ray dived into the shelter of a huge  
pile of hay. He pulled it around him so that he was well-hidden, but  
being naturally curious he peered out, anxious for his first glimpse  
of the prince.  
He was utterly unprepared for what he saw. Quite simply, as he  
peered up from his hiding place, Ray fell in love. He had no mother  
to tell him that this was not allowed, that one man shouldn't fall in  
love with another. His Elven heritage was to the fore, dominating his  
mind and that which he desired. Ah, but it was cruel! A year ago and  
he could have approached the prince, won him as a friend, perhaps  
even... but no. He would soon be driven from his former home. What  
could such as *he* ever offer the dark-haired, blue-eyed prince who  
rode into the stable yard... and into the heart of the half-Elven  
exile?  
But... a cat may look at a king, as the old saying went, and  
certainly a despised scullion could dream of his enchanting prince.  
Taking care not to be seen Ray took every opportunity to watch his  
idol, storing up memories and images in his lonely heart. He could  
not even feel jealous of Sue-Ellen and Krystal as each in turn  
promenaded on Prince Bodie's arm, his beloved was as far above him as  
the stars of heaven, and it was enough--almost--just to watch...and  
wonder how it would be if *he* were the one Prince Bodie swept into  
the rhythm of the dance in the candle-lit hall of an  
evening...  
It was Ray's patient, careful observation of the prince that  
brought him at last to the realisation that he was not the only one  
to watch so closely. Besotted as he was, he could not but be aware  
that the two rough-looking individuals who lurked in the shadow of  
the next bush one morning had some nefarious purpose in mind- it was  
certain that *they* were not there simply to admire the beauty of his  
beloved. Anxiously, Ray remained concealed as Bodie and Murphy left  
the garden to depart for their morning canter across the heath, and  
the two suspicious characters in turn emerged from their hiding place.  
To his horror, Ray learned from their conversion that the two  
men were part of a devilish plot to assassinate the prince. The  
attempt was to take place that very morning- indeed, the murderers  
were already in position.  
There was no way to warn Bodie. As the conspirators hurried off  
Ray paced up and down the garden anxiously. How could he summon help?  
Looking as he did- he glanced down disparagingly at his torn and  
patched clothes- who would believe him? Even if Alexis was willing to  
act on his information, he could not reach her- she had long since  
given orders that her stepson was to be kept out of her sight. As for  
Bodie's men, who other than] Murphy could be trusted? And the loyal  
aide was marked for death with his master.  
The only chance, small though it was, lay in whether he, Ray,  
could reach the site of the ambush in time to shout a warning. From  
the conversation of the conspirators he knew where it was, but he was  
on foot while the prince and Murphy were mounted on fast horses.  
Still, he had to try...  
As he drew breath to run, Ray stopped suddenly as a shimmer in  
the air beside him solidified suddenly into the shape of a tall,  
solidly-built, fair-haired man with a dangerous expression on his  
world-weary face.  
"That's right- rush off half-cocked and ruin everything," the  
stranger snorted disgustedly. "That's the trouble with you  
half-bloods; no patience to speak of."  
"Who are you?" Ray gasped.  
"Name's Macklin. I'm your fairy godbrother. And no smart cracks,  
either, petal. I didn't ask for this assignment, you know."  
"What assignment?" Ray was thoroughly bewildered.  
"Taking care of you, of course. Your mum just remembered all  
about you- decided she really ought to make sure you're properly  
settled in life. I drew the short straw. None of this three wishes  
rubbish for you, flower- you get the whole 'happily ever after' bit.  
Just tell me what you want, and I see that you get it."  
"You mean, you can grant me anything I want?" Ray asked  
hopefully.  
"Just said that, didn't I? Told you, I'm your fairy godbrother.  
You tell me what you want, I sort it out for you. Let's see... usual  
priority is a fair-haired damsel..."  
"There's no time for all that now," Ray interrupted impatiently.  
"If you really can make things right, help me save Prince Bodie."  
"Prince Bodie, huh? If *that's* your first request, looks like I  
can forget about the damsel. Okay, I get the picture. I know just  
what's wanted." Macklin glanced around. "Fetch that wheelbarrow over  
here, will you?"  
Ray did as he was told, and watched in amazement as with a few  
cabbalistic words Macklin changed the rusty container into a gleaming  
silver chariot.  
"A Capri, that," his fairy godbrother announced with  
satisfaction. "Mind you, that really comes into another fiction  
plane, but still... beggars can't be choosers, can they? You'll find  
you know how to drive the thing all right. Passenger seat has all the  
weapons you'll need--and you'll know how to use them, too. Oh, one  
last thing."  
Macklin waved a careless hand. Ray looked down at himself, and  
gasped in delight. His torn rags had vanished, and he was clad in the  
sleekest skin-tight jeans, a T-shirt that clung lovingly to every  
contour of his chest, and a leather jacket that shone with an  
expensive patina that bespoke wealth.  
"Very tasty," Macklin muttered, eyeing him up and down. "Okay,  
petal, go rescue the boyfriend."  
Ray felt the colour stain his cheeks. "He's not my boyfriend,"  
he murmured as he turned away.  
Macklin smiled cryptically. "If even half of what I've heard  
about Prince Bodie is true, you'll sing a different song five minutes  
after he catches sight of you," he promised under his breath. For a  
moment a frown creased his forehead as he studied Ray's retreating  
form, then with an evil grin he waved his hand--and tightened the  
jeans another size and a half.  
"One thing," he called. "Come back here when you've finished- we  
have a few things to settle."

The arrival of Ray in the silver Capri routed the assassins  
totally and Bodie and Murphy, who had been resisting bravely, sallied  
from their refuge, and within a very short space of time all the  
prisoners had been rounded up and were on their way back to the  
castle in charge of Murphy and a squad of the royal bodyguard. Not  
until they had all departed did Prince Bodie turn to his rescuer.  
"Looks like I owe you one, sunshine," he said warmly, his gaze  
roaming appreciatively over the attractive stranger.  
"Oh, it was nothing," Ray shrugged modestly, deliciously aware  
of the eyes that lingered on the tight jeans. He backed away,  
slipping into the driving seat of the Capri. "I really must be going  
now..."  
"But I'll see you again, surely?" Bodie asked anxiously. "You'll  
be at the ball tonight?"  
Ray looked up, drowning in the pleading blue eyes. "I'll be near  
you," he promised, "and if everything works out, then maybe..."  
//Ray, time to get back.// Macklin's voice echoed in his mind.  
"Wait a minute--at least tell me your name," Bodie pleaded.  
"I can't just yet. Call me what you like."  
"Okay- Sunshine. Don't forget, or I'll come looking for you."  
Bodie stepped back as the Capri pulled away. He glanced up as Count  
Dandini returned, having seen the prisoners safely locked up. "You  
know, Murphy, I may have just solved my problem," he remarked  
thoughtfully.

Macklin was waiting when Ray braked to a halt in the garden. He  
smiled knowingly as Ray slid out of the driving seat and patted the  
bonnet happily. "Nice line in magic chariots you've got," the young  
man observed.  
"Nothing but the best," Macklin agreed. "Sorry about this," he  
continued, waving his hands over both Ray and the car, "but union  
rules are rules. We're supposed to reach an agreement before I do  
anything for you. Only reason you got this much on account was due to  
your mother's influence." As he spoke the car seemed to collapse in on  
itself to become once more the rusty wheelbarrow, and Ray stood there  
shivering in his tattered rags.  
"I mean," Macklin continued chattily, "no point you saying  
Prince Charming there is the love of your life if he's been  
splattered all over the landscape, is there? Makes me look such a  
fool, an' all, not to be able to deliver the goods. You...er...*do*  
want him, don't you?" he asked anxiously.  
"Ooh yes! Who wouldn't?" Ray's eyes shown at the thought.  
"Hmph." Macklin's sceptical tone might have answered the  
question, but Ray was too besotted to notice.  
"I mean, did you see his eyes?" the lovelorn youth continued  
longingly. "And his mouth. And that..."  
"Quite. However, unless you want to waste my time here just  
talking about him, we'd better get to work. I do have other  
customers, you know." Macklin produced a clipboard and pen. "I  
presume you want the happily-ever-ever, forsaking-all-others,  
as-long-as-you-both-shall-live bit?"  
"Of course."  
"Just checking." Macklin made some notes. "What's next...  
Protection against bewitchment of offspring... I think we can forget  
about that. Oh yes, I almost forgot. What about the wicked  
stepmother? I do a very nice line in warts and boils."  
"I don't think so," Ray shuddered.  
"Toads and lizards falling from her lips each time she speaks?"  
"Er...no."  
"Your stepsisters are included in the deal, of course," Macklin  
urged. "Just think of the possibilities."  
"If it's all the same to you, I'd really much rather forget all  
about them," Ray said quickly. "Just as long as they don't bother me."  
"Right. One non-interference clause coming up." Macklin ticked  
another column on his form. "I think that covers everything."  
"Is that all there is to it? Do I get him now?" Ray asked  
eagerly.  
"Lord no!" Macklin said wearily. "All I've done is draw up the  
contract for you to sign on completion. It's just a safeguard, so  
that I know exactly what you want, and you know what to expect at the  
end of the day. Here, read that over and initial it."  
"That seems to cover everything," Ray murmured after a few  
moments, returning the form.  
"Fine. Next step is the ball tonight at the palace. Just stay  
out of sight until everyone has left, then meet me in the stable and  
you'll see what you will see."  
"But..." Ray was talking to empty air. Macklin had vanished.

The interminable day grew to an end at last and Ray watched  
thankfully as the coach bearing Alexis, Krystal and Sue-Ellen pulled  
out of the courtyard. With fast-beating heart he hurried to the  
stable, half afraid that it had all been a dream, but Macklin was  
there, lovingly polishing the bonnet of the gleaming silver Capri.  
"Your magic chariot awaits," his fairy godbrother announced with  
a flourish. "Oops- can't go like that, can you?" He muttered a few  
magic words, then beckoned Ray forward to gaze into the mirror that  
had suddenly appeared on the stable door.  
For several minutes the younger man was incapable of speech. The  
clothes he had worn that afternoon had transformed him, but *these*...  
Trousers of the finest, softest suede in pure white, fitting  
like a second skin; on the rounded swell of a buttock the rich curve  
of flesh was enhanced by a decorative patch that caught and held the  
eye. ("Sorry, but T'Lan's kinky for patches," Macklin muttered  
obscurely.)  
The shirt was a gleaming emerald silk that matched his eyes;  
abandoning all pretence at buttons it lay open to the waist, exposing  
the seductive trail of hair and the tiny dormant nipples.  
The outer garment was a full length white cloak, with a hood  
that framed his oddly beautiful face, emphasising the slanting green  
eyes; from beneath the hood a riot of silken curls flowed down his  
neck. On his feet were boots of white leather, so soft and supple  
that he could almost think himself barefoot.  
"Very nice," Macklin nodded. "Well, off you go and have a good  
time. Just remember one thing- you must leave the palace before  
midnight. When the clock strikes twelve, all your finery will vanish."  
Ray looked puzzled. "Why?" he asked.  
Macklin shrugged. "Who knows? This is a fairy tale, not the  
great novel of our time. Just remember what I told you."  
"I will," Ray called as he climbed into the Capri. "And thank  
you, fairy godbrother."  
"Not so much of the 'fairy', if you don't mind," Macklin growled.

Prince Bodie was quietly driving his cousin Count Dandini into a  
nervous breakdown. Forced as he was to remain enthroned beside his  
uncle as the guests were announced, he was unable to keep watch  
himself for the one guest in whom he had any interest. A dozen times  
he sent Murphy scurrying to the gate to see if there was any sign of  
the magic chariot or its enchanting driver.  
'He's got to come', the Prince thought desperately. 'I can't  
find him and lose him all on the same day! But if he doesn't come,  
how will I ever find him? I don't even know his name!'  
For careless, cynical, arrogant Prince Bodie had tumbled head  
over elegant heels in love within two seconds of gazing into the  
bewitching green eyes of his nameless rescuer. That was the mate he  
would choose, no other. Old King Cowley wouldn't like it, of course,  
but it was his own fault; when he had sent his nephew to serve as a  
mercenary under an assumed name in foreign armies in order to learn  
of their ways and customs, he clearly hadn't given quite enough  
thought to just *what* customs he might adopt. Well, it was just too  
bad...  
Murphy came forward to whisper something in his ear. Bodie  
listened, then with a delighted grin he turned to his royal uncle.  
"Sire, I beg you to excuse me. If all goes well, I will announce  
my betrothal before the ball ends tonight." Without waiting for an  
answer he left the throne and hurried across the ballroom to the  
white-draped figure Murphy had indicated by the door.  
Old King Cowley strained his eyes to follow his nephew's  
progress. (He really did need glasses, but so far had not been able  
to bring himself to wear them in public.) He grunted with  
satisfaction as he saw his nephew pause beside a figure dressed all  
in white, linger for a few seconds in conversation, then with typical  
impetuosity he swept his partner into the dance.  
With a grunt he leaned back, wishing as always that the throne  
was a little more comfortable. So the young scapegrace was beginning  
to take things seriously at last! If the lassie was even halfway  
suitable he'd agree to the wedding in short order. Pity he couldn't  
see her face... He could send for them, he supposed, but it seemed a  
pity to interrupt Bodie's...er...train of thought.  
At the other end of the ballroom Bodie smiled down into his  
companion's flushed face as they circled the floor. He had not given  
Ray the opportunity to remove his cloak, and so far it had not dawned  
on any of the avidly watching guests that it was a young man who  
blushed and trembled so adoringly in the prince's arms. Delighted at  
the response to his touch, Bodie tightened his grip.  
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come," he murmured.  
"I couldn't stay away," Ray confessed. "I had to see you again."  
"Just as well, Sunshine, because if you hadn't come, I'd have  
had the palace guard out scouring the kingdom. Look, we can't talk  
here. Will you come with me?"  
"Anywhere," Ray breathed, gazing up into the blue eyes so close  
to his, feeling as though he was drowning in their intense gaze. And  
those lashes... What would it be like to feel them brush against his  
lips?  
"Let's go, then." They had reached a door guarded by two  
footmen. As they came abreast of it Bodie called out an order, the  
door was opened. He whirled a breathless Ray through it, and it was  
slammed and locked behind them.  
"My private quarters," grinned Bodie. "Now we can *really* get  
down to business."

It was much later that night. Two figures lay entwined in an  
embrace on a couch before a flickering fire in Prince Bodie's room.  
Two sets of elegant clothing strewn haphazardly across the floor were  
mute testimony to the urgency with which they had reached the haven.  
Ray sighed happily as Bodie's lips nuzzled his ear. Deprived of  
maternal guidance, the wretched youth had never received the benefit  
of the usual warnings.  
'Lie back and think of Fantasia.'  
'It's not a sin if you don't enjoy it.'  
'Only a slut *moves*, dear.'  
'Not until you've got the ring on your finger.'  
Never having benefitted from such sage advice, he had responded  
happily, enthusiastically, and above all *loudly* to Bodie's  
lovemaking. Replete, he sighed contentedly.  
"Happy?" Bodie asked with a smile, winding one of the silken  
curls around his finger.  
"Blissfully. What more could I want?"  
"There is more, Sunshine. I'm not going to risk losing you now.  
Lover, will you marry me?"  
Ray snuggled deeper into the strong arms, smiling broadly as he  
listened. Everything he had wanted was being offered to him... It was  
working out as Macklin had promised...  
Suddenly Ray stiffened and looked up at the face bending over  
him. The blue eyes were glazed with passion, blind to everything but  
need. Oh yes, Bodie wanted him, more than the throne, more than his  
position, more than life itself.  
But it was an *artificial* need, Ray realised dully, born of his  
own longing and Macklin's magic. Bodie was a Prince of the Blood  
Royal, heir to the throne of Fantasia; what was *he* but a penniless  
beggar, unwanted by his mother, disowned by his father, his Elven  
blood making him an object of contempt. He *could not* tie the man he  
loved to such a wretched creature.  
Slowly Ray sat up, and forced a smile to his lips. "Yes, I'll  
marry you, love," he lied.  
He accepted the kiss he received without guilt, for he knew it  
was the only farewell he would bid his lover. "How about some  
champagne to toast our betrothal?" he suggested.  
"Of course. Won't be a minute." Bodie rose, slipped on a robe,  
and left the room, calling for Murphy as he went.  
As soon as he was out of sight, Ray rose and grabbed his cloak.  
He didn't dare take time to dress, and his boots were nowhere to be  
seen. Wrapping himself in the heavy folds he went out onto the  
balcony from which he saw that he could easily reach the ground;  
across the gardens, he told himself, through the stables, and out of  
the palace by the servant's entrance. No one would question anyone  
leaving the palace. He returned to scribble a brief message which he  
left on the couch. Then, knowing that if he lingered he would not  
have the strength to leave at all, he returned to the balcony and  
swung himself to the ground.

Midnight was striking when one of the guards on duty on the  
south wall leaned forward, studying the figure that stumbled along  
the moonlit road. Dead drunk, to judge from his unsteady gait, and  
obviously a beggar, for bare legs gleamed in the moonlight below a  
ragged piece of sacking that wrapped the huddled figure. Really, it  
was terrible the state some people let themselves get into. Still,  
whatever went on outside the palace walls was no concern of his...

"Sunshine? Sunshine, where are you?" Bodie glanced frantically  
round the room. He'd only been gone a few minutes, for heaven's  
sake... He noticed the sheet of paper on the couch and picked it up.  
*I'm sorry. I can't go through with it. I'd only hurt you. But I do  
love you.*  
So his loved had gone out of his own free will. But why? Dazedly  
Bodie looked around the room, hoping for some clue. He frowned as his  
gaze fell on the pile of clothes on the floor, and he picked them up.  
They were lying where Sunshine's had been, but these torn and patched  
jeans were certainly not the expensive garments his lover had worn...  
Wait! Hidden by the jeans was something he *did* recognise, a  
pair of soft white leather boots. He picked them up, an idea already  
forming in his mind.

The following morning a proclamation was issued the length and  
breadth of the kingdom. Old King Cowley announced that his nephew and  
heir was distracted by the mysterious disappearance of the one he was  
to wed. However, the fair unknown had left an item of clothing  
behind, namely a pair of white leather boots. Whosoever in the  
kingdom fitted the boots- *and could speak the name the prince had  
given his betrothed*- would be given Prince Bodie's hand in marriage.  
Alexis was furious. From having an excellent chance of seeing  
one of her daughters on the throne, she now had no more than anyone  
else. The boots might very well fit one or both of the girls, but  
each had only one chance to guess the love-name. If she ever got her  
hands on that interfering hussy... Besides, what sort of woman wore  
boots to a ball?  
The search progressed slowly, for Bodie and Murphy accompanied  
the heralds each day. They were the only ones to know that it was in  
fact a man they sought; the heralds considered that their strict  
interpretation of the 'whosoever' in the proclamation was sheer  
pedantry.  
At long last the procession reached Alexis' estate. She watched  
with bated breath as first Krystal then Sue-Ellen tried on the boots.  
They fitted Sue-Ellen, but alas, she could not give the name the  
prince waited to hear.  
Putting as good a face on it as she could, Alexis waited for the  
royal party to leave. Instead, the herald coughed.  
"Is there anyone else on the estate, Madame, who is eligible to  
try the boots?" he asked.  
"Only the servants, and they are all too old."  
"You're forgetting Cinderayla," Krystal giggled.  
"Oh yes, Cinderayla." Sue-Ellen chuckled. "Perhaps *he's* the  
prince's betrothedhed!"  
"Who is this Cinderayla?" the herald enquired.  
"Merely the scullion," Alexis answered quickly. "He certainly  
cannot be the one. My daughters are simply being foolish."  
"Nevertheless, the decree is that all must try. Summon  
Cinderayla."  
Seething, promising herself that the luckless youth should have  
a good beating when the royal party left, Alexis had no choice but to  
send to the kitchen for Ray.  
As it happened, Ray had not heard of the proclamation- no-one  
wasted time telling him news that could not possibly concern him. It  
came as a shock, therefore, when the first thing he saw on entering  
his stepmother's presence was his pair of white boots reposing on a  
velvet cushion, and the second, Prince Bodie himself. Colouring, he  
hung his head, hoping that he would not be recognized.  
His hope was doomed to failure. Bodie's heart pounded as he  
caught sight of his beloved, and something else throbbed in response  
to the sight of the sweet flesh revealed by the torn garments. He  
forced himself to stand silent until the formality of trying on the  
boots was completed, then he moved forward and cupped Ray's chin,  
tilting the downbent face towards his own.  
"My love, will you deny me?" he asked sadly. "Speak the name I  
gave you."  
"I can't," Ray whispered painfully. "It was magic...you didn't  
have any choice. My fairy godbrother arranged it. I love you too much  
to take you with a trick."  
Bodie smiled in relief. "Is *that* all?" he asked. "Look, love,  
I have a few charms of my own. Among them is one that says I can't be  
bewitched."  
"Really?"  
"I swear it," Bodie said solemnly.  
"Then..." Ray swallowed nervously. "You call me... Sunshine."  
"Correct!" the herald announced triumphantly.  
Neither Ray nor Prince Bodie heard him, being locked in a  
passionate embrace. Neither did they hear Murphy's tactful  
whistling... nor the gnashing of Alexis' teeth.

Old King Cowley was not pleased. That disreputable nephew of his  
had turned up at last with his intended in tow, only to reveal without  
a blush that the baggage in question was a man- a very good-looking  
one to be sure - but a man nevertheless. Objections had to be  
raised- and were.  
"He's a scullion," he said with distaste. "Do you really want  
dishpan hands at your bed and board?"  
"If they're his, I do," Bodie said defiantly.  
"And he isn't really a scullion," broke in an unexpected voice;  
Krystal had decided to cut her losses in the hope of earning Ray's or  
the prince's gratitude. "He's my stepfather's real heir, only my  
mother and sister persuaded him to change his will."  
"See?" Bodie demanded triumphantly.  
"That's all very well, but what about his... er... his mother's  
side of the family?" Old King Cowley asked delicately. "They might  
not be quite... quite."  
"Oh yes they are!" There was another interruption as Macklin  
appeared in a puff of smoke. "I'm his fairy godbrother, and I'm here  
to tell you that his mother is the daughter of the King of the Elves.  
There's royal blood in that lad, and don't you forget it, George,  
unless you want war on your hands."  
"Harrumph." Old King Cowley emitted the sound that only a  
true-born Scot can achieve, and then only after years of practice.  
Things were not going too well. "He's... he's a man!" he declared at  
last.  
"You noticed, huh?" Bodie said fatuously, gazing adoringly at  
the object of his affections.  
"I could scarcely avoid it- those garments are barely decent.  
However, I was referring to the succession."  
"What about good old Murph?" Bodie suggested with an air of  
inspiration. "He's eligible- and I'll even adopt him. Say, 'Thank  
you, Daddy', Murphy."  
"Thank you, Daddy," Murphy replied demurely.  
"Any more objections?" Bodie enquired.  
A look of victory lit the craggy face. "Yes. His dowry. What  
about his dowry. His weight in gold, as I recall."  
Ray looked crestfallen, but Macklin grinned reassuringly. "Your  
Mum'll take care of that," he promised, as he began to utter another  
spell.  
Cowley's eyes widened as the gold began to appear, a mountain of  
it, gleaming in crystal containers, far more than Ray's weight. He  
licked his lips in delight.  
"Glenfiddich. Glen Grant. The Macallan. Glenmorangie. Glen...  
Ach, take him with my blessing, laddie. I willna lose *this* dowry.  
But just where do you think you're going in such a hurry?" he asked  
as Bodie began to pull Ray away from the throne.  
The blue eyes widened innocently. "I'm just following up your  
observation, Sire. Those clothes *are* indecent... So I think the best  
thing I can do is get him out of them as quickly as possible - don't  
you?"  
And-Bodie being Bodie in any universe-that's *exactly* what he  
did.

 

END


End file.
